


We Fall Together Or Not At All

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean braces himself for a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Fall Together Or Not At All

**Author's Note:**

> 2014!verse AU

  
Sam's there when Dean comes back. He's almost exactly where he left him.

Where Dean left him before he went to find himself a gun that could kill Lucifer or die trying.

He hadn't told Sam that, he'd thought there was a fair chance he wouldn't make it back. But he'd been pretty sure if he did make it back Sam was going to kill him.

So he figures he owes his brother one.

Dean can feel the tight coil of fury coming from him, he feels it the moment he lifts his head and sees him, feels it when Sam sees the splash of red on his throat and the torn sleeve of his jacket. A thousand tiny pieces that make up a picture Dean is probably never going to tell him about.

He drags the colt out of his jeans and dumps it on the table.

Sam doesn't even look at it, mouth a fine line.

Dean thinks maybe they're not going to have this fight here.

He turns around and walks out, heads back to his cabin, he can feel Sam on his heels all the way. All the damn way, burning holes in his back and trailing anger like blood.

When the door slams behind them Sam finally whirls on him, vibrating with fury and relief.

"How could you be so stupid, so fucking _stupid_."

Dean braces himself for a fight.

"Sam-"

"Don't," Sam says fiercely and then he's all the way up in Dean's personal space, dragging him in by the loose edge of his jacket, finding his mouth and shoving it open, all burning pressure and hot thrust of tongue.

Because it seems they're not gonna fight after all, and Dean thinks, yeah, he can do this, he can work with this instead.

Sam pushes him back onto the bed while his fingers work hard at his buckle. Angry and rough and Dean tilts his hips up and takes it because he thinks maybe he deserves this a little.

Deserves it and maybe wants it.

Wants it.

"Fucking stupid," Sam's still hissing, and Dean can feel how hard he is through his jeans, can feel how much Sam wants, and that's a dizzy rush of arousal that makes him harden further, makes him exhale into the shaky wetness of Sam's mouth. He lets Sam fumble at his button and zipper while he digs under Sam's jacket and shirt and tries to get to skin, tries to find somewhere to dig his fingers and hold on. Because that's what they do best, they hold on.

Sam jerks his jeans all the way down and off, ripping off one of his boots in the process. Dean grunts protests but it's only half-hearted, it's just air. Sam has his mouth again before he can form anything that sounds like a word, breathing there while Sam kisses him in quick hard presses that feel like anger but taste like something completely different.

Sam drags his boxers off, sliding into the space between his legs and shoving his t-shirt and jacket up out of the way. Dean gasps when he hears the snap of a bottle because - Jesus, fuck - this is going to be quick and angry and he thinks maybe it's going to hurt more than a little but he wants it, wants it, _fucking wants it_

He spreads his legs and Sam groans something garbled and senseless against his mouth and slides slippery fingers down past his balls. He shoves two in straight away, rushed and careless, stretching his ass out in quick greedy pushes.

"Jesus," Dean manages, cock jerking and hardening into a solid ache against his stomach. It's a steady uncomfortable sting that still manages to be so fucking good. Because he knows Sam's going to get him open just enough - oh Jesus maybe a breath away from just enough and he's digging his fingers in, fucking _clawing_ at the back of Sam's jacket.

His thighs twitch and fall open wider but that's still not good enough for Sam, who shoves at them, moves forward on his knees, pulling one of Dean's thighs up far enough that when he oils himself up the back of his hand glides over Dean's ass.

"Fuck, do it, do it," Dean shivers out in a rush.

Sam groans and pulls his fingers free, shifts forward and positions himself, before the head of his cock finds where Dean's slippery wet and barely ready, then pushes into him.

Oh God.

Dean makes a low choked off noise, there's more than a sliver of honest pain there because it's a rush job and he's still too tight but he can't stop himself from trying to push back anyway.

"What would they say if they could see you now?" Sam says fiercely, and there's a quick almost too hard push, a solid ache of discomfort when Sam slides in another inch.

It's a shivery stretch that makes Dean groan and tilt his hips, trying to make it easier, slower, less and more at the same time.

Sam looks down, at where he's pressing into him, and exhales, shocked and too loud.

"Jesus," he says shakily. "If they could see you like this, underneath me with your legs spread and my dick in your ass."

"Fuck, Sam." Dean chokes on the word, groans something that sounds for all the world like it's fucking _helpless_ when Sam's hips work him deeper in steady pushes.

"What would they do if they knew you were this easy," Sam says shakily.

Dean thinks about calling him a bitch but Sam shoves with his hips, a sharp flare of sensation and then he's all the way in, all the fucking way in, fingers bruise-tight on Dean's hips.

"Yeah," Sam says throatily and there's no pause, no chance for Dean to catch his breath, shift and adjust, there's just pressure. Sam pulling out and slamming back in. Smashing every breath into ragged achy pieces.

It's steady and hard, almost too hard, and it hurts, but that sharp ache makes it real, makes it something that's just for them.

"Sam."

Sam groans out a breath, shaken and vulnerable, though Dean's the one that's on his back taking it all. Dean's the one - Jesus, he can't think, can't think at all with Sam's hands wrapped so tight round his thighs, holding him open, holding him down. Dean thinks maybe he is fucking easy but Sam's cock is punching up into his prostate in a way that's messy and good and he's so close to coming he can fucking taste it.

So close, so goddamn close.

He jerks and comes over his own stomach without even touching himself, a wet rush of warmth on his skin. Sam makes a ragged lost noise in his throat and shoves in hard enough that Dean's vision briefly whites out. Then he stills and Dean can feel every long drawn out pulse when Sam comes inside him.

Sam's entire weight collapses onto him and Dean takes it with an irritated huff, arms falling out to the side.

His ass hurts like a motherfucker and every inch of his skin is alive and tingling and delicious.

Jesus.

 _Jesus._

"Fucking bastard," Sam says sluggishly and Dean knows that's all he's going to say about Dean's suicidal heroics today.

He holds the back of Sam's neck, listens to his hectic breathing against his own skin and holds on tight.

  



End file.
